Ten Days of Lassie
by allikitty699
Summary: The members of the SBPD are forced to spend ten days together. How will Lassiter handle it? And, more importantly, how will everyone else handle Lassiter? Eventual Shassie. There will be some gen and humor, but plenty of angst. CHAPTER 5 UP!
1. Introduction

**A/N: Hello, all! I decided to start a multichapter Shassie fic. There's a few reasons for this: namely, I wanted to explore Lassiter's character through his interaction with others on a personal basis, as well as his relationships with many of the key players. Unfortunately, Gus isn't in here – I really wanted to have Buzz, and I have specific ideas for each of these characters, so some sacrifices had to be made.**

**As for this chapter: it's really just an introduction, so not a lot happens until the next one. I hope you enjoy it, though I promise the next one will be more interesting. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Psych, or any movies/songs referenced later on. If it's copyright, it's not mine.**

Ten Days of Lassie

"Chief, I just don't think this is a good idea," Lassiter complained as Henry's truck pulled out of the parking lot of the SBPD at four in the morning. He fiddled with his keys, not wanting to open the Crown Vic and have everyone's dirty shoes trample on the carpet. "Doesn't it seem like they're asking too much of us?"

"They're just asking for us to be civil," Karen sighed. "If that's too much for you, we're going to have some very serious problems."

"And none of us have been getting along well lately," Juliet added.

Lassiter rolled his eyes, but didn't disagree. It was true – after the end of the Yin case, those involved had all taken to snapping at each other daily. After Henry and Karen had gotten into a screaming match so brutal that it ended in a full-blown brawl involving the two of them, Lassiter, Juliet, Shawn, and a very unfortunate Buzz, it was decided by the human resources department that action must be taken beyond the counseling that had already been offered.

"Still, cabins in the woods?" Lassiter grumbled, sliding behind the wheel of his prized car.

"It does seem a little bit excessive," Juliet agreed from the backseat. "And I don't understand why we have to spend two days with each person separately. It seems like a big waste of time."

"Some of us need to learn how to deal with certain people on a one-on-one basis," Karen said. Lassiter tried to pretend she wasn't looking pointedly at him.

Buzz shrugged. "As long as it'll help everyone get along, I'm all for it," he said, sounding surprisingly cheerful for someone who would be away from his wife for a full ten days. "Besides, we've been really slow at the office lately, and we've got plenty of great people to cover for us. It'll be like a vacation!"

"If you spend your vacations doing teambuilding exercises with people you hate, then sure, it's just a long vacation," Lassiter said sarcastically, stepping a little harder than necessary on the gas.

"Other than Spencer, who here do you hate?" Karen asked, frowning.

Lassiter decided that nothing good could come from answering, so he just requested that they ride in silence and glared daggers at Buzz every time the younger cop reached for the radio.

It was barely dawn when they glided to a stop in front of a small building at the edge of a forest. "Hey there, everybody!" a perky blonde park ranger squeaked as Lassiter struggled to wake up a snoring Buzz. Karen grumbled something about it being far too early in the morning for this crap, and Juliet half-fell out of the car. Henry and Shawn were already standing on the front porch. Henry was holding onto the back of his son's shirt, keeping the barely-conscious young man standing.

The park ranger shook everyone's hand with a smile so wide Lassiter's face hurt to look at it. "So, I guess you guys know the drill. You will spend two days and nights with each individual here to work on your teambuilding skills in one of three cabins. There will be no television, computer, or cell phone usage. Every other morning, one person will be escorted to a new cabin while the other waits for someone else to arrive. You will not know who the next person you will be rooming with until the morning of the move. Any questions?"

_Yes,_ Lassiter thought. _What the hell are you doped up on that's making you this happy at six in the morning?_

"I think we all understand what we're doing," Karen sighed, running a hand over her face. "Can we just get settled in? I want to get at least a few hours of sleep."

The girl's smile faltered briefly before she squealed, "All righty, then! Come with me!"

Three golf carts (all manned by a driver who seemed just as manically happy as the ranger) were packed with luggage and the first round of roommates was assigned.

"We're going to put you with whoever we believe you are most comfortable with," the ranger explained. "For the first two days, the groups will be Shawn and Henry, Karen and Buzz, and Juliet and Carlton."

Lassiter felt his gut unclench, and he turned to smile at his partner, only to find her looking slightly horrified.

Lassiter slumped in his seat as they drove toward the cabin, watching depression slide steadily over Juliet's features. _This is going to be the worst week and a half of my life._

**Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated. :D **


	2. Day One: Juliet O'Hara

**A/N: I'll admit, I did something completely shamelessly: I made Lassiter a bassist. I love bass (I play it myself) and read on his biography that, were he in a band, he would play an upright bass. I nerded out REALLY hard over that. **

**You guys are so amazing – I was honestly flattered when I woke up to all those reviews, favorites, and follows. Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy this fic!**

Day One: Juliet O'Hara

Juliet tried to ignore the twisting feeling in her gut. Two days alone with _Lassiter_? Why did she have to get him first? He got along okay with Henry and the Chief, why couldn't they deal with him?

She sighed. The whole point of the trip was to learn how to get along with people better. Why was _she_ there? Lassiter and Shawn were the big problems. Juliet was always cheerful and agreeable, and Buzz was the nicest person alive. They had no trouble dealing with people, so why did they have to be stuck in the woods with an irritable, gun-happy detective?

She glanced at Lassiter as they pulled up to a small cabin. She had to admit, that wasn't really her biggest problem with the arrangement. Her issue with Lassiter wasn't his grumpiness, but what might replace his bad mood. With nothing to do but talk (and follow the "conversation guidelines" that were being given to them), there would undoubtedly come a point when the conversations became serious. While she thought she knew Lassiter relatively well, the one thing she _didn't_ know was how he felt about her.

It's not like she had no reason to be worried. After all, the only reason she'd been transferred to Santa Barbara was because she had to replace his old partner after the higher-ups discovered that she and Lassiter were sleeping together. Even with all the time she had spent with Lassiter – alone, nonetheless – she couldn't help but feel a little nervous. He was clearly tense already, and they were going to be completely alone, at night, in a tiny house. Juliet thought she would stop breathing when she realized there was only one bedroom.

"We're supposed to be sleeping together?" she spluttered at the driver, who was helping Lassiter unload the golf cart.

"There are two beds," the driver was quick to point out, "and don't worry – there's surveillance cameras, and sexual activity is strictly prohibited. The beds are put in the same room to promote sharing, learning, and camaraderie, but you can sleep on the couch, if that's more comfortable for you."

"It shouldn't be a problem," Lassiter said simply. "We're both adults, I'm sure we can handle sleeping in the same room for a couple nights."

Juliet's heart started to race. _How on earth is he okay with this?_

She waited until the driver had gone and Lassiter was beginning to unpack to say, "You know, Carlton, I think I'm going to take the couch."

Lassiter frowned. "Really?"

"Yeah." Juliet couldn't tell exactly what emotion Lassiter was holding back. Disappointment? Anxiety? She had to come up with a lie to get that look out of Lassiter's eyes. "It's just… I snore. Really loud. And I really don't want to keep you up. You need your sleep."

"Oh. Well, thanks."

"No problem." Juliet started dissembling one of the beds, stripping off the blanket and pillows. After only a few seconds, the bundle was gently removed from her arms.

Juliet looked up to see ice-blue eyes staring down at her. "Don't worry, O'Hara. I'll sleep on the couch."

"Are… Are you sure?"

"It's fine. I'm sure you'll be much more comfortable in here." Lassiter gave her a small, incredibly rare smile and went back out to the living room, meticulously smoothing the sheets over the cushions.

Juliet gulped. _That's just who Lassiter is, _she tried to tell herself. _He's chivalrous. He's not always good at it, exactly, but he's kind of like an old-fashioned gentleman when he wants to be. _Still, she couldn't keep her hands from shaking as she reached for her bag.

She climbed into her bed, still fully clothed, hoping to get a few hours of rest. _If I'm lucky, I'll sleep through the next two days._

That was, of course, impossible. She woke up around noon to find Lassiter in the small kitchen, making a sandwich. He looked different without his holster (which he'd been forced to leave behind, thank God), and she had to admit that his forearms looked pretty good when he rolled his sleeves up like that. The thought of finding Lassiter even somewhat attractive unnerved her so much that she couldn't bring herself to approach him. She tried to back away, but Lassiter was far too observant not to hear.

"Good afternoon, O'Hara." He held up his plate. "Would you like something?"

"No, that's okay." Juliet sat down awkwardly at the tiny, scrubbed table. "So… how are things going with you so far?"

Lassiter shrugged, looking a little confused. "Fine. I worked out for a little while, fantasized about being at the shooting range… the usual. Why?"

"No reason. We're supposed to be talking, so I'm trying to come up with things to talk about."

"Who said we were supposed to be talking?" Lassiter asked, looking a little perturbed by the very idea.

"The driver. He said that, even though it's about learning to get along, it's also about getting to know one another. He said that we're supposed to spend our time together bonding."

Lassiter chuckled. "Yeah. Sure. And after that, we can braid each other's hair and talk about boy bands."

Juliet huffed, exasperated. She was still tired, she was anxious, and she hadn't eaten since lunch the day before. Pushed past her limits, her annoyance spilled over. "You know, Carlton, I don't want to waste the next two days trying to talk to you, but there's not exactly any other way to spend our time right now."

While she had known that her words would have some effect, she definitely didn't expect an unmistakable look of hurt to pass over Lassiter's normally-stoic features. He gathered up his food and made for the back door.

"Carlton, I… I didn't mean…" Juliet was stunned at her own ruthlessness. "I didn't mean that I don't want to talk to you, I just meant…"

"I know exactly what you meant."

"_Carlton…_"

"It's fine, O'Hara," Lassiter said curtly. "I'll leave you alone to enjoy your lunch."

Juliet watched, horrified by her behavior, as Lassiter went to sit, alone, on the deck. _Should I follow him?_ she wondered nervously, watching him through the window. _No, no. He'd probably just get mad. I'm sure he'll calm down in a little while, and then we can talk about it._

After eight hours, however, Juliet decided that waiting for the head detective to come around wouldn't work. In fact, Lassiter hadn't moved from his since two o'clock, when he had come in to use the bathroom. Juliet had felt too awkward to try and corner him, and Lassiter hadn't even glanced at her on his way out. Still, she had to do something – at this point, it looked like he was ready to sleep out there – so she grabbed a bowl of soup to bring the probably-starving detective and cautiously opened the slider door.

"Carlton?"

Lassiter didn't answer or turn around. The fingers of his left hands were moving rhythmically, and he was humming. It took her a moment to recognize the tune.

"Is that 'Who Are You'?" she asked, surprised. "My brother loves that song."

"It's just the bass line," Lassiter said, his voice cold and overly cordial. It made Juliet cringe.

"I didn't realize you like The Who." She took another look at his left hand and realized that his fingers were forming notes on an invisible fret board. "You play bass?"

"Since college." His hand continued flitting up and down the wood of the deck. Juliet had always thought of bassists as reserved and stoic. She was surprised at how well the instrument seemed to fit him.

Lassiter finally looked at her, eyes piercing. He barely glanced at the peace offering of food. "There you go, O'Hara," he snapped. "You learned something about me. Now you can feel good about yourself for following the rules." He turned back around, jaw set.

"Carlton, please. I really didn't mean what I said earlier." When Lassiter didn't respond, she leaned forward and waved the bowl around under his nose. "Mmm, that sure smells good, doesn't it?"

Lassiter gave her an icy stare. "I'm not a labradoodle, O'Hara. You can't just hold lukewarm Campbell's soup in front of me and expect everything to be okay."

"Come on, Carlton!"

"No. You meant what you said. I know you did." Lassiter gulped, and Juliet was surprised to realize that he was trying to steady his breathing. "People don't like talking to me. I know that. It's not your fault. I'm just not the kind of person people want to be around." He looked pointedly away from Juliet. "I just thought that, maybe, you were one of the few people who liked me."

Juliet could feel her heart breaking. She couldn't stand to see a stuffed animal with sad-looking eyes. How was she supposed to sit there and watch Lassiter retreat even further into his shell?

"It's not that I don't like you," she said desperately. "I just thought…"

"Thought what?" Lassiter's voice was distinctly gruff.

"I thought you might be interested in me."

Lassiter looked at her and frowned. "Interested? What do you mean, interested?"

"I was just worried that, after all the stuff with Lucinda, that you might be, well, attracted to me." Juliet tried to suppress a blush. "And I was nervous about spending all this time together, because, you know, it might make you think about…"

She trailed off. The look on Lassiter's face told her she shouldn't continue.

"Is that really what you think of me?" Lassiter asked quietly, gritting his teeth.

"Well – All I meant was…"

"No." Lassiter stood up, brushed himself off, and made his way to the door. "Screw this. I'm going inside. And don't worry," he added with a sneer, "I'll stay on the couch."

The door slammed so hard Juliet jumped. A little bit of cold soup splashed over her wrist. She sat, frozen with fear and embarrassment, until the sun had sunk far below the trees and a chill had crept into the air. She stood slowly, her limbs rebelling against the sudden movement, and slipped silently into the small kitchen. She discarded the soup that she hadn't had the heart to eat; her stomach was squirming with guilt. After pulling on her pajamas in the small, cramped bathroom, she wandered to the bedroom and crawled onto the squeaky cot that they had deceptively labeled a bed. The last thing she saw before she laid down to sleep was Lassiter, legs hanging uncomfortably over the side of the couch, sleeping with his arms wrapped protectively around himself.

_Oh my God. What have I done to him?_

**Please review! You guys are incredible. :D **


	3. Day Two: Juliet O'Hara

**A/N: Once again, I am writing at Long John Silver's. If you can find one near you, I would definitely recommend writing there – it offers surprising clarity. **

**There are a few things about the direction of this story that I would like your opinions on. I'm planning on ending every other chapter with a look into another group; for example, the short addition at the end of this chapter. Would you guys like to see more of the others, or is this enough of a look?**

**My other question is this: Do you guys want Shassie smut, or fluff? I'm fairly adept at writing both; though the actual smut/fluff won't come until the end, it will change other parts of the story, depending on your decision. (Keep in mind that I plan on writing separate Shassie smut pieces.)**

**I apologize for the incredibly long author's note. XD Please let me know your thoughts in a review!**

Day Two: Juliet O'Hara

Juliet could hear the faint noises of the shower down the hall when she woke up the next morning. For a moment, she was disoriented and confused, but then a thought brought her back to reality: _I hurt Lassiter yesterday._

Guilt wormed its way back into her gut, and she groaned into her pillow. _I have to go apologize to him. I can't just let him leave still thinking I don't like him._ She dressed slowly, trying to prolong her time alone, but after spending three minutes adjusting her socks, she had to face the music. She crept as quietly as she could into the kitchen, hoping she could catch Lassiter before he went back to his fortress of solitude on the deck. When she entered the room, however, she gasped when she saw what was laid out in front of her.

One of the places at the table was set with a plate of bacon, eggs, and pancakes arranged almost artfully, along with a vase holding a freshly-cut daisy. A glass of orange juice sparkled slightly in the sun, highlighting a note. In Lassiter's perfect scrawl, it said only six words: _"I'm sorry. Sincerely yours, Detective Dipstick."_

She smiled. It was a surprisingly sweet gesture, and it tugged even harder on her still-sore heartstrings and made her guilt grow.

She looked up when she heard the faint click of the bathroom door opening. Lassiter walked out, hair still wet and skin faintly damp and smelling of some sort of masculine soap with the word "ocean" in its name. He blushed when he saw her watching him with misty eyes; Juliet figured that he'd been hoping she'd find her breakfast after he had banished himself to the deck. "Good morning," he mumbled. His top two buttons had been left undone, but he buttoned them quickly when he saw Juliet glance at what she now always referred to as his "sternum bush."

Juliet frowned. He looked so awkward.

"Carlton, can we please talk about yesterday?"

Lassiter shrugged. "Why? I overreacted. You were well within your right to be nervous. I should respect your boundaries."

"No, no!" Juliet, making a very quick and decidedly bold decision, grabbed Lassiter by the arm and dragged him to a chair. "_I_ should be apologizing to _you_. I didn't mean a lot of what I said. I was really harsh, and I'm sorry. Can we _please_ work through this?"

Lassiter looked wildly around, as if someone might pop out and save him. When no one came to his rescue, he sighed. "Okay. But I need to eat first. I'm starving."

Juliet looked down at her lavish breakfast with a cocked eyebrow. "You haven't eaten yet?"

"No. I was busy." He waved a hand at her plate. "Doing that."

She stared down at the meal, then slowly pushed it towards Lassiter, who smiled very slightly and pushed it back.

"It's yours. I'll just fix myself some toast."

"Are you sure? There's plenty here. You could at least take an egg or something."

Lassiter raised his eyebrows. "Do you not want it?"

"No, no, I want it." That was partially true, at least. Juliet tried not to let Lassiter see her as she gingerly sniffed at a slice of bacon before taking a delicate nibble. "Wow. This is actually pretty good."

Lassiter narrowed his eyes. "Thanks for the tone of surprise."

"Where did you learn to cook like this?" Juliet asked, ignoring her partner's glare.

"_Cooking for One_. It's actually a pretty good book. It ends every recipe with an inspirational quote." He paused thoughtfully. "I'm pretty sure those pancakes ended with the 'I Have a Dream' speech."

Juliet honestly didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She settled with taking a bite of a sunny-side-up egg. Something about the precision of the meal made her think that it had been made hundreds of times. She wondered if he prepared the table that elaborately every day. She wouldn't have been surprised if he had taken to leaving notes for himself and using the "good china."

He sat down with a slightly burnt piece of plain toast. They ate in silence; Lassiter chewed slowly, clearly stalling. Juliet managed to finish her entire breakfast before his was gone. He fiddled with a small piece of crust until Juliet grabbed it from him and popped it in her mouth.

"O'Hara! You can't just take food out of someone's hand!"

"I can when they're using said food to avoid having an uncomfortable, but necessary, conversation."

"It had my spit on it!"

"So? Are you sick?"

Lassiter shifted uncomfortably. "Well, now that you mention it, my throat has been a little bit scratchy the past couple days…"

"Oh, give it up, Carlton." Juliet rolled her eyes. "We have to talk about this sometime."

"No, we don't! Why can't you just keep all of your feelings inside, like a normal person?"

"And end up like…?" Juliet didn't bother finishing – she was pretty sure that he knew she was going to say "you." "Carlton, I care about you. You're my partner, and I don't want to think that I've screwed things up between us forever because I said something careless and rude. Just tell me something."

Lassiter frowned and started fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves. "Like what?"

"Like… what do you think of me? What is our relationship to you?"

"You're not going to let this go," he observed. "I told you, O'Hara, I'm not interested in a romantic relationship with you. You don't need to worry about that."

"I know. I just want to know how you feel about me. If it's not a sexual thing, what is it?"

Lassiter sighed. "I don't know. I guess… the first time I met you, you reminded me of Lulu."

"Lulu? Your sister?" Juliet didn't know if she could possibly be more embarrassed. She had gone through all that trouble to make sure he'd never be attracted to her, and he thought of her as a family member.

"In some ways. You're both happy a lot, and you're pretty close to the same age. I never got to see her very often, and I guess I liked the idea of spending time with someone like her. It made me feel closer to her in some weird way." Lassiter almost choked on the word "feel," as if it was some kind of curse word that he was being forced to repeat. "Then I got to know you, and I guess I kind of… liked you. I didn't just feel obligated to take care of you anymore." He finally met her eyes. "You're my best friend, O'Hara."

Juliet's eyes widened, and she struggled to find any words whatsoever, but her throat seemed to have narrowed. "I am? Really?"

"Well, _yeah_," Lassiter snapped, annoyed. "I see you every day. Plus, you're the only person who calls me by my first name."

Juliet instantly regretted ever calling him Lassiter behind his back. She had no idea that she was that important to him, but it seemed obvious then. She was the only one who was allowed to talk back to him. She'd never seen him hug anyone other than her, including the various women he supposedly had an interest in. She thought about the night on the clock tower, when she'd been kidnapped by Mr. Yin. Lassiter, who averted his eyes from other people's tears at every turn and regularly told other officers to man up, had allowed her to collapse in his arms. He had stroked her hair and reassured her in his soft, deep voice that everything would turn out okay. "Carlton…"

"I know that I'm not yours," he said quietly. "Now that you're dating Spencer, Guster is probably your best friend. And I know that you and the Chief have always gotten along well, and I'm sure you have plenty of old friends from the academy or college…"

"Whoa, wait." Juliet held a hand up and marveled at her partner. "How did you know that I was dating Shawn?"

Lassiter looked down at the table. "I saw the two of you kissing in the interrogation room a few weeks ago, when you were writing out your statement."

"You were there?" Juliet asked, frowning. "Why didn't you come in and talk to me?"

"I was going to." There was a definite edge to Lassiter's voice then. "I was trying to figure out what I should say when he walked in. I wanted to make sure you were okay." He cleared his throat slightly. "It's probably a good thing Spencer got there first. I would have just made you feel worse."

They sat quietly for a moment. Juliet, with wet eyes, whispered, "I would have liked to talk to you."

Lassiter just shrugged slightly, eyes on the scratched wood of the tabletop. The tips of his ears were red, and he seemed to have exhausted his ability to express his emotions.

Juliet very slowly scooted her chair closer to Lassiter's, making slow, deliberate movements for fear of spooking the head detective. "I haven't talked to anyone from college for years, you know. And the Chief told me that women on the force don't really become friends. And as much as I like Gus, I _really_ don't think anyone but Shawn could hold best friend status there." She put a shaking hand over one of Carlton's. "After my brother was arrested, you were there for me. When my ex-boyfriend came out of Witness Protection, you were there. And after everything with Yin, you were one of the people that really seemed serious about making sure I was okay. If that isn't what makes somebody a best friend, I don't know what is."

"Really?" Lassiter didn't look up; he seemed frightened of seeing a lie in Juliet's eyes.

"Really." She wrapped an arm gently around his shoulders.

Lassiter looked up at her and smiled that elusive, crooked smile. "Thank you, O'Hara."

Juliet grinned and gave his shoulders a light squeeze. "Thank you too, Carlton."

The silence stretched for minutes, and Juliet's shoulder began to ache slightly. They never talked about how awkward that position was in movies. She gingerly removed her arm, and Lassiter looked slightly relieved. He wasn't used to being touched, particularly not for an extended period of time.

"So." Juliet cleared her throat delicately. "Do you think you could teach me about bass? I don't really know much about music."

Lassiter looked a little surprised, but agreed with an, "Okay, sure."

Juliet was surprised when she looked out the window and realized it was dark several hours later. Lassiter had drawn frets and strings on paper and helped her learn different notes. She was stunned by how cheerful he was, smiling and even making the occasional non-sarcastic joke. He was kinder about teaching music than he was about teaching police work; probably, she realized, because no one could be hurt if you screwed up a note.

Juliet bullied Lassiter into continuing the lesson until both of them were so bleary-eyed that the drawings of the strings were wavering in front of them. Lassiter yawned and checked his watch. "It's one in the morning, O'Hara. We need to get to sleep."

"Yeah." Juliet rubbed her eyes and watched as Lassiter made his bumbling way over to the couch. "Hey, Carlton?"

"Yes?"

"Did you… want to sleep in the bedroom tonight?" At Lassiter's confused look, she added, "The couch is way too small for you. You looked really uncomfortable there last night."

Lassiter looked at her almost nervously for a moment before grabbing a blanket. "I would like that a lot."

Even with how tired she was, Juliet couldn't fall asleep for a while. She was too busy humming the songs Lassiter had taught her and listening to her best friend's rhythmic breaths from the next bed.

The next morning, Juliet let Lassiter continue to sleep when she was picked up by one of the park rangers and driven by golf cart to a new cabin. Shawn met her at the door.

"Hey, Jules. How were things with Lassie? Did he ask you to run around through the trees while he used you for target practice?"

"Very funny, Shawn."

"Or did you wake up to find him standing over you, breathing heavily and holding a pair of your underwear? Because I can't count the number of times Gus has done that to me."

Juliet rolled her eyes. "Remember that whole maturity thing I told you about?"

Shawn pretended to look thoughtful. "I do believe I remember that coming up when you were giving me your 'thirty reasons I'm breaking up with you' speech last week."

For a moment, Juliet felt guilty. She had broken up with Shawn the Wednesday before for a lot of reasons, the least of which wasn't her anxiety over his recklessness in dangerous situations (or her attraction to a certain pharmaceutical sales rep). Though she felt justified in what she'd done, she couldn't help but feel bad.

"Either way," Shawn continued, opening the door for her, "I have no doubt that you'll have a lot more fun with me than Lassieface. Unless you find being the object of fantasies involving guns and handcuffs fun, in which case, you should probably head back there. Just remember, when Lassie tells you he needs to pat you down, he's not necessarily looking for weapons. Unless you're like those robots in _Austin Powers_ with the tiny gun barrels in your boobs, in which case…"

Juliet just sighed and, with a smile, started humming the song that Lassiter had taught her with Shawn in mind.

"_Oh yeah, you're a genius_

_Oh yeah, you've got it all figured out…"_

"**Genius" by The Friendly Indians (Steve Franks's band). You should buy it. :D Please read and review!**


	4. Day One: Buzz McNab

**PLEASE NOTE: There will be separate warnings for some sections. Even if it doesn't come up until the second half of the section, I will post it in the first, just so that people can skip that particular part of the story if they feel necessary. With that said – **_**there are mentions of drug use and overdose in this section.**_

**A/N: I wanted to mention that one of my best friends, Totesumi, drew a really lovely Shassie pic for me. Look her up on Deviantart and check out her scrapbook to see it. (It's my current desktop.) She's an AMAZING artist, so check out her gallery and leave her some comments! : ) **

**I've decided that, seeing as this is a Lassiecentric fic, I should keep portrayals of other groups Lassiter-related, or at least story-related (like at the end of the last chapter). You can still share your feelings on this in the comments, and I really appreciate all of the wonderful reviews, favorites, and watches I've been getting; you guys are the best!**

Day Three: Buzz McNab

Buzz whistled quietly to himself as he hopped off the golf cart. "Don't worry, I've got it," he said, waving the driver away from the bags. He scooped his suitcase and duffel bag up awkwardly under his arms. "Thanks for the ride!"

The park ranger waved as he drove away, shaking his head slightly. Buzz didn't really mind – he got a lot of head shakes, though he could never figure out why. Francie had told him it was because he shocked people, but he didn't understand that. (She had told him that right after he had apologized to the very nice boy who had hit him with his bike. It really _had_ been rude of him to stand in his way, after all.)

He heard very quiet snores coming from the bedroom, and he made sure to tiptoe his way in. He was surprised to see Lassiter._ I thought they said they were putting us with who we were most comfortable with_. He grinned to himself. _Wow! I didn't realize Detective Lassiter was comfortable with me! I know he has a tough time showing it, though. I hope I don't bother him too much._

Buzz stumbled across Lassiter's things on the couch. _Wonder what they're doing out here_. He went to move one of the duffel bags, only to drop it and send Lassiter's things spilling across the floor.

Panic flooded his brain. "Oh no!" he groaned, falling to his knees and scrabbling to collect everything. A book on the Civil War, a toiletry bag, a collection of ties… he stuffed everything haphazardly into the bag, watching the bedroom door, waiting to see it swing open to reveal a furious head detective. His grasping fingers flitted over something smooth and almost sticky. He looked down and saw, to his surprise, a photograph.

_I really shouldn't,_ he told himself. _It's Detective Lassiter's personal stuff._ His fingers settled more securely over the picture. _Of course, I'm sure it would be fine if I just took a quick peek. It's just a picture, I doubt I'd get in trouble for just looking at it._

With one last, quick glance at the doorway, Buzz settled back and looked at the photo. It was pretty nondescript, but strangely intimate at the same time: a Polaroid of a teenage boy in the driver's seat of a car, with sandy blonde hair, dark eyes, and a huge smile. Buzz cocked his head to the side and stared at it, puzzled. He flipped it over to see a date written on the back: 1987. What would Lassiter be doing carrying an old picture of some teenager around?

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

Buzz's head snapped up at the deadly voice and saw Lassiter, in pajamas and with messy hair, looking more dangerous than anyone really had a right to before noon. "Well?" he scowled, moving slowly closer like a lion stalking its prey. Buzz really wished he wasn't sitting on the floor; he was at least three kinds of vulnerable, and vulnerability was the last thing someone should show Carlton Lassiter.

Before he knew it, Buzz had opened his mouth and begun a bumbling explanation. "I'm really sorry, sir, I was just trying to move your things so I could sit down, but then one of the bags tipped over and a bunch of stuff fell out, and I was putting it back, and –"

"And you decided to go through everything."

"No, no! That wasn't it at all! I just…" Buzz looked around hopelessly. Usually, when he found himself in a tight spot with Lassiter, Juliet was there to save him. He didn't know how to handle the temperamental detective on his own. "I was just looking at this picture," he half-whispered.

Lassiter gritted his teeth, then sighed. "Just give me that," he growled, snatching the photo out of Buzz's hands. "If you want to make it through these two days, McNab, you better keep your hands to yourself. Got it?"

Buzz nodded timidly, and watched as Lassiter stormed into the kitchen. He took a shaking breath, stunned at the fact that he managed to get off the hook so easily. It took several minutes for his brain to catch up with what had just happened.

_Wow. Lassiter must REALLY like me!_ It was the only explanation he could think of – the grumpy detective would usually tear the head off of anyone who touched his stuff, particularly when said stuff was clearly very private.

"Detective Lassiter?" Buzz called, jumping up and half-racing to the kitchen. "Did you want me to make you some breakfast?"

Lassiter jumped slightly. He seemed to have been sitting at the kitchen table, staring, transfixed, at the photograph. "What – no! I'm forty-one years old, McNab. I think I can handle scrambling eggs."

"It's okay. I'm already making myself something." Ignoring Lassiter's splutters of protest, Buzz started pulling things out of the cabinet and refrigerator. "How does French toast sound?"

"I – it – McNab…" Lassiter gave up with a small sigh. "It sounds fine."

Buzz took this as permission to stick to Lassiter's side the entire day. It wasn't until seven o'clock at night that he took a break from his monologue.

"I really like music," he was rambling, washing dishes and not noticing Lassiter rubbing his eyes in frustration. "My friend Randy is a deputy in San Francisco, and he's in this band called The Randy Disher Project. They're pretty good. I think he'd send you a signed copy, if you want. He really likes signing stuff. Do you like rock music?"

Lassiter stood from the small table abruptly. When he saw Buzz's alarmed face, he cleared his throat. "I'm going to go take a shower," he said stiffly, then stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door decisively behind him.

Buzz frowned. _Poor Lassiter. He seems so stressed._ As he slid the last dish into the drying rack, he heard the shower switch on. The running water seemed to cause a sort of epiphany.

_Oh, my goodness! The poor folks running this place are paying all of the utility bills! I didn't even think of that. They shouldn't have to pay for two showers. Here we are, staying here at the department's expense, and we're using all their hot water! That's not fair. Maybe I should join him? I mean, we're both men. And he said he wrestled in high school, so I'm sure he's showered with other people._ He nodded resolutely. When he reached the door, his courage faltered, but it came back when the handle turned. Not realizing that the lock was broken, and instead assuming that Lassiter wasn't all that worried about being alone, he walked in and began to pull off his shirt.

Buzz had never seen Lassiter startled until the moment he stepped into the shower behind him. "Whoah, whoah!" the head detective yelped, grabbing the curtain and wrapping it around his waist as best as he could. His right hand flew up near his shoulder, where his gun was usually kept in its holster. "I hope for your sake that you just sustained massive head trauma and have no idea what you're doing!"

The younger man stared. Was it just his imagination, or was Lassiter _blushing? _"Well, I just thought, if you were already showering, I might as well…"

"Might as well what, McNab?" Lassiter snarled. He was definitely blushing now, and he seemed to be making a point out of staring at a spot up and to the right of Buzz's head instead of at him.

Buzz huddled over slightly, looking like a very large beaten puppy. "I just thought we could save water. It would be rude to make them pay for two showers." He up at Lassiter. "Is there a particular reason you don't want us to shower together?"

"No!" Lassiter said a little too quickly. "I just happen to feel that two men-"

The rookie cop was no longer listening. "Great!" He stuck his hand into the stream of water and started splashing it over his hair. "We can switch spots when you're done."

"Fine!" Lassiter had clearly given up. He started scrubbing roughly at his scalp, trying to force as much shampoo out of it as possible. His hurry made Buzz a little nervous.

He tried to think of anything to relax the detective. What was relaxing about showers? Buzz looked around, his gaze landing on a bottle of body soap. Of course! The relaxing thing about showers was getting clean, right? He could probably help with that. He squeezed a small puddle of soap into his palm and began to gently rub it across Lassiter's back.

Had Buzz been expecting anything out of the older man, it would have been a yell or, far less probable but still possible, a thank you. What he definitely hadn't been expecting, however, was the very slight gasp that hit his ears. That was a gasp he had heard from Francie more than once on their honeymoon, but he had certainly never given a _man_ any reason to make that noise.

It was then that, for the first time, Buzz McNab truly got it.

All the clues lined up: the blush, the refusal to turn around, the rush to get out of the shower, and now the gasp. It pointed to one thing and one thing only. And did Buzz dare say what that thing was?

Both men were completely silent. Buzz had the feeling that Lassiter was holding his breath, waiting to see if Buzz knew exactly what had happened. His muscles were tense under the fingers the rookie still had splayed over his back.

"Sir?" Buzz said it so quietly even he could barely hear it over the rushing water. "Are you… aroused right now?"

Before he knew it, the Buzz was on his back on the bathroom floor, looking up at a pink-faced Lassiter, who was clutching a towel around his hips so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. In a shaking voice, the detective rasped, "Get. Out. Now."

"Detective Lassiter – "

"_Did I stutter, McNab?"_

Buzz had no idea that he could do a naked, sopping-wet, backwards crab-crawl as fast as he managed to. Once he was in the kitchen, the door was slammed in his face. Buzz wanted to ask for his clothes back, but the angry bangs and crashes coming from the bathroom scared him into settling for his pajamas.

For two hours, Buzz sat, paralyzed in fear, on the couch, wondering what the undoubtedly outraged head detective was planning for him. He had to remind himself over and over that there were no guns allowed on the premise to keep his fledgling panic attack from exploding, and he tried not to think of all the other ways Lassiter surely knew how to kill people and dispose of their bodies. When his watched beeped, signaling that it was nine o'clock, he decided it would be in his best interest to go to bed.

Buzz, however, was never a man to pay much attention to his best interests.

"Excuse me, Detective Lassiter? Are you okay?" Buzz called quietly through the bathroom door. When no answer came, he pushed at the door. It gave ever so slightly before it stopped. It seemed that Lassiter was bracing himself against the frame.

"I'm fine, McNab. And if you want to keep your limbs where they are, you'll walk away right now."

"It-It's okay, sir. I promise. I'm not mad or anything. And besides, you can't sleep in there."

"Like hell, I can't." The same tenacity that edged into Lassiter's voice when he was arguing with Shawn over a case.

"Please come out. We can – "

"What? Talk about it?" Buzz could almost see Lassiter shaking his head. "And say what, McNab? 'So, how's that whole liking-men thing going for you?'"

"Talking might make you feel better…"

Lassiter laughed, sounding a little delirious. "Of course! We'll just talk it out! Why didn't I think of that? You're right, McNab. Talking about it will make it seem almost as if you never found out the secret that I've been spending my entire life trying to protect."

Even Buzz could hear the sarcasm. He bit his lip. What was he supposed to do? None of the rules that he'd spent so many years memorizing at the station could help him now. There was no protocol for this kind of thing, especially when it came to Lassiter.

"Let me make this easy for you, McNab. You go to bed. I'll sleep in here. After tomorrow, we'll pretend we don't know each other. And you will say nothing about what happened here for fear of POW-level torture. Understood?"

Buzz looked down at his feet, ashamed. Without answering, he shuffled off to bed, slipping beneath the covers and wondering how anyone could possibly screw up this badly.

**Hopefully the next update will come sooner. Thank you all so much for reading, and please review! You guys always make my day. : ) **


	5. Day Two: Buzz McNab

**WARNING: There will be mentions or drug use and drug overdose in this chapter.**

**A/N: I could write a long excuse about how busy I've been and that's why I couldn't update, but… I'm going to save that. Because it's really not that important why (and I know a lot of you probably don't read ANs anyway :P ). All I'll say is that a lot has happened, and some of it has even altered the course of some of these chapters. I hope you guys enjoy and appreciate the ideas as much as I do, and I hope that the emotions behind them will come through in the writing.**

**You guys are seriously great. Seriously. I love you all so much. I'm going to do my best to update a lot more. I'm already writing chapters ahead of schedule for some stories just in case. Thank you all so much for being patient with me – I can't tell you how much I appreciate it!**

**Plus! Anyone who is interested in seeing Tim Om with a pompadour, he totally has one in **_**Hard Pill**_**. It is gorgeous. Oh, and he kisses a man in it. This is what I like to call a win/win. :D You can find one of the scenes by looking up "Tim Om – Breakin' Dishes" on YouTube. **

Day Four: Buzz McNab

Buzz woke up after a restless half hour of sleep. He had spent the entire night worrying about what Lassiter was going to do. Buzz knew that there was no way for both of them to come out of this unscathed, be it physically or emotionally – the only remaining question was which it would be.

Buzz was frying eggs when he heard muffled noises from the bathroom. Carefully, he pushed the door open to see Lassiter curled up in the bathtub, sleeping in his boxers and dress shirt and whimpering quietly. The detective twisted around, eyebrows furrowed, shivering in the cool morning air, an action that proved both pathetic and endearing at the same time. Buzz was covering Lassiter with a towel when he noticed two photos on the floor that seemed to have slipped from the older man's hand. One was the picture of the boy he had found yesterday; the other was a photo strip. He realized he shouldn't, but Buzz couldn't help it – he just had to see what it was.

He picked up the photo strip and was surprised to see not only the boy from the other picture, but Lassiter as well. It seemed to have been taken a good twenty years before. Lassiter was young and grinning, his hair gelled into a pompadour that made Buzz chuckle. The first photo was a pretty typical one of the two boys smiling with their arms around each other's shoulders, and the next showed them giving each other bunny ears. The third became more intimate: the two were nose-to-nose, their eyes closed and expressions of tender contentedness crossing their faces. It reminded Buzz of the wedding photo he and his wife had in a frame on their nightstand. The final picture gave Buzz a bit of a shock, even after the events of the night before – Lassiter was running his fingers through the other guy's hair, and their lips were meeting in a loving, playful kiss. A twinge of sadness ran through the rookie's heart. He had never seen Lassiter look that happy in the present day.

The head detective gave a tiny snuffle from the tub, and Buzz jumped. He placed the two photos in a safe place next to the sink and scurried out to where his eggs were burning.

A half an hour later, Buzz was washing dishes when he heard the door creak open. Lassiter crept out of the bathroom with a sheepish look on his face. "McNab." He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I… have an apology I need to make."

Buzz waved his soapy hands furiously. "No, no, no! I was way out of line. I should never have made you feel so, uh, _uncomfortable."_

Just the word made Lassiter blush. "It's not your fault," he said stiffly. "In any case, you don't have to worry. If you promise not to tell people what happened, I'll make sure we never have to work on another case together."

Buzz frowned, tilting his head to the side. He had never been good at hiding his feelings, and he knew there was disappointment written all over his face. "Why?"

"This isn't exactly something I want people knowing, McNab!"

"I don't mean that. I mean, why can't we work together anymore?"

Lassiter cocked an eyebrow. "Don't you think it might be kind of awkward?"

"Maybe a little bit at first, yeah," Buzz said with a shrug, "but that's okay. I mean, the chief found a poem I wrote about her, but that doesn't mean I don't want to work with her."

The detective fiddled with his shirt cuffs for a moment. The tips of his ears were pink. He looked up only slightly, and if Buzz didn't know any better, he'd describe the motion as sheepish. "You actually _want_ to work with me?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"McNab…" Lassiter shook his head with a small smile. "You are the only person who would ever have to ask that."

Buzz wanted to ask what he meant by that, but he decided to just take it as a compliment. Silence fell over the kitchen and, despite all odds, managed to be surprisingly comfortable.

"You know, sir," Buzz said, cautiously optimistic, "there are hiking trails around here, if you wanted to take a walk. I know I'm getting kind of sick of being stuck inside."

Lassiter's smile grew by the smallest fraction. "Sure. Why not?"

After they showered (separately this time, as Lassiter was – in Buzz's opinion – unnecessarily vehement about) and dressed, they managed to locate a trail right beside the cabin and began a slow ascent up a nearby hill.

The old awkwardness started coming back to Buzz the longer they walked together in silence. Now that it was all really sinking, he was starting to feel appropriately shocked. After all, Lassiter – dated women, talked about women, had _married_ a woman – had been attracted to him. And not just him, if those pictures were anything to go by. What exactly did that mean? Was he gay? Bisexual? Was he, like one of Buzz's college roommates, pansexual? Despite the fact that it was, at this point, a pretty reasonable question, Buzz wasn't sure he should ask. Nothing so far was quite adding up.

"Something wrong?"

Buzz jumped slightly, looking guiltily at Lassiter. "No," he tried to lie, but the head detective continued to stare him down with those ice blue eyes, and he gave in. "I guess I just have some, y'know, questions."

He flinched, ready for the tirade, but all he got was, "That's fair."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I probably owe you a few answers anyway."

It was all so easy that it made Buzz even more nervous than he already had been, but there was no turning back now. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the ground as he spoke. "Okay." He cleared his throat, trying to think of the least awkward and offensive question. "What are those pictures for?"

"Pictures?"

"Yeah. You know, the ones you brought with you."

"Oh." Lassiter stared straight ahead, pointedly avoiding looking at Buzz. "Those were from a long time ago. They don't really matter anymore."

"Are you sure?" Buzz asked. "They seem to matter a lot."

"They don't," Lassiter said stubbornly. "Not really. At least, they don't have anything to do with my life now.They're just reminders."

"Why?"

"Because Tom is dead."

An image of the smiling teen flickered through the rookie's head, and his heart dropped. Buzz watched as a crushing sadness flitted, however briefly, over the detective's face. He wanted to put a hand on his shoulder, but he knew that would be crossing the line. "Tom. You mean the guy in the photos?"

Lassiter nodded.

"What happened to him?" Buzz's voice had grown steadily quiet, and he was barely speaking above a whisper. "He wasn't… he wasn't _murdered_, was he?"

"No." Lassiter shook his head. "No, he wasn't. He died of an overdose."

Buzz fell silent, instantly regretful. The look in Lassiter's eyes told him that this wasn't a good subject to pursue, but he couldn't stop himself. "Was he your…?" Buzz let it hang there, not sure how to finish it.

Lassiter shot him a sideways glance. "Boyfriend?" he asked, the word dripping with sarcasm and something like hurt. "I guess you could say that. He didn't like me calling him that, but that was still probably what we were." He looked up at the canopy of tree branches above him and took a deep breath. Buzz could see that he was steeling himself for the conversation, trying to find a decent way to explain it.

"I met him in my freshman year of high school. You might be surprised to hear this, but I had never been very popular, and I didn't have any friends. People didn't even want to sit near me in class. I don't think I went a single day without taking a spitball to the back of the head.

"Tom was exactly the opposite. He was on the football team. He got good grades. He was funny and charming. Girls wanted him, and guys wanted to be him. When he was assigned as my lab partner, I couldn't believe the he actually didn't mind. He was the first person to really talk to me like a human being, and from day one, all I wanted was to be around him. And he let me. It didn't matter that none of his other friends liked me, or that it was hurting his reputation. He actually wanted me there. He was my best friend.

"After the homecoming game in sophomore year, once everyone was gone, we snuck under the bleachers, drank a lot of beer, and started talking. I said, uh, some things I didn't mean to say, things that I had planned on keeping private, but then he said he felt the same way. From then on, we had two different lives. At school, we were friends who made stupid jokes and did stupid things, and when we were alone, we were… more than that."

"So boyfriends," Buzz attempted to clarify.

Lassiter sighed. "Yes and no. I tried to call him that. In my mind, that's what we were. But he would get angry with me, telling me he wasn't gay. He was too scared to admit it to anyone, even himself. He didn't stop calling other people 'fags' or 'queers,' and he kept going on dates with cheerleaders."

"And that didn't bother you?"

"Of course it bothered me," Lassiter snapped, annoyed. "But it was either let him do that or lose him. And besides, at the end of the day, he had picked _me_. That's all I cared about."

"But why?" Buzz asked. "Why would you deal with someone who did that to you?"

"Would it be asking too much for you to believe if I told you it was because I loved him?"

Buzz thought about his wife, the way he felt when they were together, and the things that he would do for her. His only answer was, "No, it wouldn't."

Lassiter kicked at the ground. "He told me he loved me. All the time." His voice cracked. "He was the only one who had ever said that to me. It didn't matter what he did. I would follow him to the ends of the earth, just for saying those three words."

Buzz felt a pang of sympathy. He didn't think he could ever leave Francie, whatever the circumstances.

"The drugs started the summer before our senior year. He started hanging out with a bunch of idiots that got him into it. I didn't like it, but I couldn't just leave him with them. I figured that if I was there to look after him, he would be fine." Lassiter rubbed at his eyes, apparently exhausted. "Cocaine addicts aren't the easiest people to live with, and I learned that the hard way. Tom got moody and violent when he was high, and I _hated_ being around him when he was like that. He always apologized afterward and, like an idiot, I always took him back. Except for that one night.

"A week before Christmas, we got into a huge fight. He told me I was being controlling, I told him he was being a moron, he punched me, I hit him back. It wasn't all that different from our other arguments, but I was exhausted. Finally, I just got fed up and left. It took me hours of driving around town to calm down enough to go over to his place. I figured I would apologize and everything would be okay. His mother – I think she knew what was going on with us, but she always seemed to like me – she answered the door and… I'll never forget the look on her face. She wasn't even crying. It was like she was past that. She was just looked so damn _tired._ She told me that Tom had overdosed in a parking lot. His so-called friends all saw what was happening and just left him there." Lassiter spit the words out with the bitterness of poison. He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. "I felt like my life was over. Like I could never find anything like that again. I didn't know how to get by without him."

"You felt like he was all you had," Buzz added quietly. "I understand that."

Lassiter shot him a skeptical glance. "I tried to forget him and move on, but it never worked. I just… didn't want that to happen again. Losing someone like that, I mean. And it's not like anyone at the time was all too friendly to… people like me. So I decided to just start dating women. I figured it would make life a lot easier."

"Did it?"

Lassiter shrugged. "In some ways, yes. In some ways, no. My divorce was still hard. I figured that if I didn't love her _that _way, it wouldn't hurt, but I still loved her enough that it did. Lying can be exhausting, too, being so careful about what you say and who you say it to. There are so many things, though, that I can do as a straight man that I couldn't do as a… well, you know. After all, I'm head detective now. I have people who respect me."

"You know you could have that as a gay man too," Buzz said. When Lassiter stopped to glare at him, he froze and hastily added, "Sir."

"I really doubt it, McNab."

"But why? There are a lot of successful gay people. Do you watch _Ellen? _Francie loves it, and Ellen always talks about her wife on there. People are just more accepting nowadays."

"I sincerely hope you're not trying to compare me to a comedienne with a failed sitcom," Lassiter said, his eyes narrowing once more.

"Uh, no, sir! I'm just saying… Well… I think people would still respect you if you were open about it. I mean, I know I would."

Lassiter stopped and looked at him, and for a second, Buzz thought he was going to punch him. Then, Lassiter's features softened, and he gave Buzz a small smile. "I know you would, McNab. But not everyone is as good as you think they are."

Buzz gulped and took a deep breath. "And not everyone is as bad as you think they are." When Lassiter didn't answer, he continued. "Sir, I know I haven't been around all that long, but there are still some things I know. Like, I know Detective O'Hara would never mind if she knew, or Chief Vick, or pretty much anyone you work with on a daily basis. You're a good detective, and that's what matters there. And, sir, if you don't mind me saying it… I think you'd be happier."

Lassiter snorted.

"I mean it, sir." Buzz put a hand on Lassiter's shoulder. He froze, worried he'd crossed a line, but the detective didn't react. "Were you… were you happy with Tom?"

Lassiter's eyes didn't leave Buzz's face, but for a moment, he seemed transported. He seemed to be looking right through Buzz and into the past, into those few shining years where he had something. When he answered, his voice was hoarse. "Yes, I was. I was very happy."

"And if you could do it all over again, would you decide not to be with him?"

"Of course not."

"Then, sir, why wouldn't you want that again with someone else?"

Lassiter's eyes suddenly grew wet and slightly redder, and Buzz almost panicked. He was happy to have the head detective talking to him, but he really wasn't sure how he would handle him crying on his shoulder. Buzz had never seen Lassiter cry, but he always figured it would involve a lot of shooting (or at least hitting things).

Lassiter yanked away from Buzz's grip and sniffled. "Come on," he grunted. "Let's get back. I'm hungry."

"Of course, sir," Buzz said, hurrying meekly after him. The two stayed silent for the rest of the walk, both of them preferring to stare at the ground than hazard a glance at each other.

Over dinner, their silence grew a bit more companionable, and Buzz started to relax. It was kind of nice being there with Lassiter, now that he'd gotten used to it. He had never really gotten to a point where he felt like he "fit in" on the force; he'd never stopped feeling like a rookie. Now, though, it was almost like he'd made a friend (not that he was willing to mention that to Lassiter just yet).

Their conversation picked up a bit as Lassiter started packing his bags, and – after a lot of insisting on Buzz's part – Lassiter agreed to sleep in the bedroom with him. In the darkness, just as he was nodding off, Buzz heard, "McNab?"

"Yeah?" he replied sleepily.

"Thank you for… you know." Lassiter sounded embarrassed. "You're not half bad."

"You too, sir. Say, you wanna come over for game night with me and Francie next week? We're playing Boggle!"

"I would rather braid a hippy's beard."

"Okay. Just figured I'd ask."

Several seconds of silence passed.

"You know…" Lassiter's voice sounded hesitant. "Getting a beer would be alright."

"It's a date!"

"McNab. Never say that again."

"Yes sir."

Buzz woke the next morning to see that Lassiter had already left, and he Juliet rifling around in the kitchen. He walked out with a yawn. "Good morning, Detective O'Hara!"

Juliet smiled. "Good morning, Buzz. How was your visit with Lassiter?"

Buzz thought for a moment. "It wasn't what I expected."

"Oh yeah?" Juliet frowned, apparently wondering if she was going to have to apologize for yet another offense her partner had caused.

"Yeah." Buzz grinned. "Detective Lassiter is my new buddy!"

Juliet stared for a moment, stunned. Buzz grabbed her bags for her. "No need to worry about these, Detective. I'll put them away for you. Want some breakfast?"

Juliet just shook her head.


End file.
